Middle-Class American Psycho

I’m having dinner with this as*hole from customer service named Brian Nadler at the hot new Arby’s off of Rural Route 12. Brian is having the Ranch and Bacon Sandwich Combo with potato wedges and a 20 ounce Dr Pepper ($6.99), while I’ve chosen the Southwest Chicken Wrap and a Pecan Sticky Bun ($4.99).

I remove my shower-proof Casio wristwatch from J.C. Penny’s ($14.99) and roll the sleeves of my grey Members Only jacket up to my elbows so as to keep the chipotle sauce from dripping on its cotton-polyester blend. I bite into the tortilla and taste a mixture of fried chicken and industrial mayonnaise while Toby Keith’s “I Wanna Talk About Me”—by far his best work to date—pumps from ceiling-mounted speakers.

Brian and I are associate managers at the second-largest Barnes and Noble franchise in the bi-county area. We are on our way to the Wal-Mart where, rumor has it, a shipment of Starter’s latest bright green New York Jets sweatpants have come in.

“Oh, by the way,” Brian says smugly, “I booked two seats at Loews for Saturday evening’s showing of the new Eddie Murphy movie.” As he talks, I notice that Brian’s 9-dollar bowl cut is almost identical to mine, and that we probably visit the same Supercuts in the Galleria. This would explain why I’m always seeing him at the mall with that pretty new cashier Janet, where the two of them get the best table in the food court.

This fills me with an unfathomable rage, so I invite Brian back to my one-room duplex for Bud Lights. While he watches Friends reruns on my 13-inch Ryobi color TV, I pull out a 6-inch knife and plunge it through his “1996 World Series Champions” Yankees T-shirt and into his chest.

I sit and dial U-Haul with my mobile phone’s free minutes to come and get rid of the body. This seems risky, but I have a coupon, and I just can’t pass up a value like this.